Everybody's Looking For Something
by JulesofDenial
Summary: Tarin Brooks is a medium, he makes his money fooling people into thinking he can speak to the dead.  The thing is, he really can.  When Tarin is forced to move to New York, a malevolent spirit torments him, and he meets a young woman who changes everythin


CHAPTER 1

It was time to close up shop for the night. The sun had set what felt like ages ago, and there hadn't been a customer for over an hour. Rising from the seat he occupied during his hours of business, Tarin Brooks made his way to the glass storefront, set about turning his open sign around to closed, and turned the deadbolt that would secure the front door. It had been a necessity to set up shop in one of the worst parts of town; discretion was a must and Tarin couldn't risk anything nicer than what he had. Peering out into the street and wishing the city would fix the broken streetlights, Tarin checked the door to make sure it was secure and started pulling shades over signs that read, "Medium" and "Contact the spirits of the lost."

Despite the fact that Tarin actually _could_ communicate with the spirits of the dead, it was not a fact he wanted the world to know. It was far better to stay in his dingy little shop, with few believing he was anything more than a scam artist, which, funnily enough, he really was. People never reacted well when they got what they were really asking for, so it was much easier to give them a tease and let them believe what they wanted to believe. Things always went south when people figured out who, and what, Tarin really was, then it was time to move again, start over. It was really starting to get exhausting.

Catching a glimpse of himself in the glass window as he pulled the shade down, Tarin grinned slightly and shook his head. Dark brown eyes stared back from the window, and Tarin wondered why he was ever worried about people taking him too seriously as a medium. Looking as he did, with tattoos running the length of his arms and legs and hair that would have been far more appropriate on a stage than behind a crystal ball, Tarin was not what he imagined the typical person thought of when they pictured a medium. John Edwards he was not. The only time Tarin could remember wearing a suit was at his grandmother's funeral when he was 8 years old. The sprits hadn't been speaking to him at that point. Now, thirteen years later, Tarin avoided cemeteries like the plague. They were one of the few places Tarin could not block out their voices, pleas, or requests.

Voices drew Tarin back from his self-evaluation, and he noticed that some kids were out wandering the streets. Tarin had gotten into his fair share of trouble as a kid, but something was different about the teenagers in this part of town. These kids caused real trouble for people sometimes, and while he was more than capable of protecting himself if need be, Tarin much preferred discretion. Pulling the shade the rest of the way over the window, Tarin turned and started to make his way to his living quarters, also known as a futon and a 10 inch black and white TV shoved into what had been a small storage space sometime during the shop's history.

Having gone no further than two or three steps in the direction of his bed, the sound of shattering glass filled the air, and a shower of shards rained down on Tarin from behind as the large windows in the front of his store exploded inward. Covering his head and wincing as he felt several tiny cuts open up on his hands and face, Tarin waited for the glass to stop falling, then turned and faced the intruders, though he suspected he already knew who they were. Suspicions confirmed as Tarin faced the boys he'd seen in the street a few moments before, he quickly evaluated the situation.

The four had donned ski masks as they made their way to the shop, but it was unmistakable that not one of them could be older than their early twenties. Each was armed. Two of the young men wielded baseball bats, surely the method that had been used to quickly dispatch of the glass in the front windows. Another of the young men brandished a knife with a nasty looking serrated edge, and from the way he was holding it, actually knew what he was doing. It was the last young man that really drew Tarin's attention however, for he was aiming a particularly lethal looking handgun at what could only be the spot right between Tarin's eyes. Physical build didn't matter. Tarin had never chosen physical battle as a means to defend himself. Slight when he was younger, and not athletic full grown, such encounters had never turned out well for Tarin. Thankfully, they were also wholly unnecessary.

"Empty your fucking pockets….where's all your money Mr. Cleo…" The young man with the hand gun said, waving it impressively around as Tarin held his hands in front of him showing that he had no weapon. The kid was sweating; obviously he hadn't done this much.

"Look…" Tarin said slowly, really not wanting to resort to desperate measures, "Everything I've got is in the lock box in the back room."

"Bullshit…" the kid said, stepping closer to Tarin, and closing the ten feet between them to about five. He grew more confident as he and his accomplices moved even closer. "You rip people off all day and all night. Where's the stash? You'd better spill or I'm going to blow your fucking brains out." The young man looked at his friend with the baseball bat, and as if to punctuate his friend's remark, the kid swung and landed a fairly solid blow to Tarin's midsection. Dropping to his knees, one arm wrapped around his stomach and the other bracing himself up, Tarin looked up at the intruders."Now…" the gun-wielding punk said, for emphasis as Tarin struggled to get his breath back.

It had become obvious by this point that there was to be no easy solution to this problem, and as such, Tarin closed his eyes and felt his surroundings fading quickly into darkness. As he concentrated, all sensation faded away; from the pain in his stomach to the small cuts on his palm where it had braced him up in the broken glass on the floor. Slowly Tarin came upright to his knees, arms spreading out to his sides. He could feel them everywhere. The spirits hung in their everlasting limbo, and Tarin reached out to them. It was a very rare occasion when they didn't listen, Tarin was their bridge between worlds after all, and they were usually most willing to do him a favor when he called as he was doing now.

As the spirits materialized, the young men, so intent on robbing the shop and its owner, slowly became aware of the fact that they were not as alone as they had thought. Dark shapes began to form around them, and low moans mingled with high pitched whines as the man who had, moments before, been on his knees came slowly to his feet, arms still outstretched. All thoughts of the weapons in their hands forgotten, the four young men stood petrified in fear as the dark forms solidified even more; human like shapes floating menacingly above the ground.

They were strong now, and Tarin knew it was time to act, before the spirits became too strong. He could already feel them pulling deeply at his strength, and too much more would be dangerous, to Tarin and the four intruders. Opening his eyes to reveal only whites, and issuing a silent command to the spirit forms now surrounding him, Tarin flung his arms forward as if conducting some spectral symphony, and the forms rushed forward in unison, enveloping the young men and their weapons.

A light bulb burst, and the room was cast into sudden darkness. The sounds of a serious struggle were unmistakable as yells and screams echoed through the night, along with the sounds of furniture scraping across the floor, hitting walls and shattering glass. Soon enough, the noises stopped and all was silent except for the sound of hasty footsteps and screams for help as the four young men, two with wet pants, ran from the store and out into the night. It was only a few moments before the lights flickered and relit themselves, casting light on the now lone figure standing in the middle of the demolished shop.

Sitting down hard in the middle of the wreckage as the pain in his midsection resurfaced and the exhaustion from his exertion set in, Tarin pulled a forearm across his sweaty brow and concentrated on trying to catch his breath as he looked around the store. Broken glass littered the ground all around him, and there didn't appear to be a single piece of unbroken furniture remaining. Tarin sighed, the spirits were still there, and in his weakened state he couldn't block them out completely. Begging voices and keening cries filled his ears, and Tarin had to resist the urge to strike out at them. Pulling his knees up and resting his chin on them as he'd done when he had first discovered his power, Tarin put his hands over his ears and closed his eyes, humming one of his favorite songs. The new day would bring a suitcase and a new city, but for now, all Tarin wanted was peace and, for him, it was not easy to find.

Slowly, Tarin's strength returned and he was able to block out the sounds of the spirits. Uncurling from his curled position on the floor wasn't as easy as it had been 15 years ago when he'd started doing it, but slowly Tarin made his way to the futon he'd originally sought out earlier in the night. Still exhausted and extremely sore from his ordeal, Tarin didn't even bother trying to cover the windows. He dropped into his bed, pulled his light covers over his still completely dressed form, and slipped into a deep sleep.

* * *

It had only been three hours since his head had hit his pillow, but suddenly, Tarin was jolted awake by the sound of sirens. Sirens always made Tarin nervous as his past experiences with police had never ended positively. Cautiously rising from his futon, Tarin leaned around the wall that separated his small room from the rest of the shop, and watched as three patrol cars skidded to a stop at the front of the strip mall where his store was located. Instantly, several officers exited their cars with guns drawn, and Tarin groaned. How was it possible that the same four thugs that had broken into his shop, assaulted him, and attempted to rob him had managed to get the cops to come after _him_? Moving quickly and grabbing the pack of bare essentials he always kept stored under his bed in case of a situation like this as well as the lock box that contained all the money he'd made in this spot, Tarin made his way quickly through the back of the shop and out the back door into the alleyway.

On the run again, Tarin glared at nothing in particular as he made his way out of the alley and down the street. The commotion at his shop had made quite a spectacle, and as the people from his neighborhood were clogging the streets, Tarin didn't have much trouble getting away. The police wouldn't find a single thing to identify him in what was left of the shop. It had been an easy lesson to learn after the law had followed him from city to city for a time. Now all they would find were a couple of fake ID's and business permits, since Tarin never used his real name anymore to register for any of those things. Memphis wasn't that big of a city, so Tarin was slightly worried about someone finding him if he went anywhere conspicuous, so it looked like it was straight to the amtrack station. If nothing else, Tarin figured he could sleep off the stress from the day in a seat at one of the terminals. While he wasn't the best dressed guy in town, he didn't think he'd be mistaken for a bum, more likely just a traveler waiting for his train.

As he walked the semi-familiar streets that would take him to the train station, Tarin tried desperately to figure out where he was going to go next. Miami, San Diego, Salt Lake City, Kansas City, Houston, San Antonio, Chicago and a splattering of smaller towns in between were all out because he'd lived, and been exposed in all of them. Sighing as he considered, Tarin shook his head at the thought of going down into the deep south, there were people there who instantly knew him for what he was, and a week in New Orleans had been enough to show him that wasn't the type of place he wanted to be.

Turning a corner and finding himself on Main Street in front of the tall brick building that was central station, Tarin sighed and pushed through the doors. Things had been good in Memphis. The slightly southern mentality had suited his Texas roots, and he'd hoped that he could stay for at least a while. It obviously wasn't to be though. Rumors spread fast, and Tarin's appearance was anything but inconspicuous in most cases. Looking at the departure boards as he reached the middle of the terminal, Tarin ran his eyes over the different destinations for trains leaving that night. Chicago was a possibility again; even if he'd been exposed there, it was a big enough city that he could probably get away with giving it a second try. But that was only a last resort. Tarin's eyes continued down the boards, and landed finally on two words. Tarin frowned slightly, this was a good option, but for some reason a feeling settled in him that things would change to a huge degree if he acted on impulse and went there.

Twenty minutes later found Tarin still standing in front of the departure boards staring at the same two words. The train left in a half an hour. Reaching a hand into his pocket and jiggling change as was Tarin's habit when he was deep in thought, he took a deep breath and moved to the ticket window.

The woman behind the desk looked exhausted, but Tarin could understand, it _was_ 4:30 am. "Hi," he said as she looked up and greeted him. "I need to buy a ticket." The woman nodded, and a strand of blonde hair fell out from behind her ear. Tarin looked at the girl, and as he studied her, Tarin calculated she couldn't have been more than twenty-five or so; probably a college student working her way through school overnights. Blue eyes met his brown, and the woman cocked an eyebrow.

"Where do you want the ticket too?" she asked, and Tarin nearly laughed out loud at himself.

"Sorry, New York," he said, and smiled at the girl. She smiled back and printed up the ticket.

"What are you doing in New York?" the girl, Brittney, her name tag said, asked as Tarin counted out the money for the ticket.

Tarin looked up and tried to figure out what to say. He decided on, "Well, things aren't working out so well for me in Memphis, so I thought a change of scenery might be just the thing for me," as he handed Brittney the money for the ticket,

"And that's all you're taking?" she inquired, leaning over the counter to look at the backpack on the floor next to Tarin.

"Yep," Tarin said, doing his best to keep himself from staring down the girl's top. Now wasn't the time for things like that. "I don't need much." Taking a quick peek at his watch, Tarin saw that he now only had ten minutes to make his train, which appeared to be on the other side of the station. "I've got to run!" he said with a grin and a wink at Brittney. He grabbed his ticket, and took off at a slight jog in the direction of his train.

Reaching the platform with a paltry five minutes to spare before departure, Tarin checked his ticket for his car and seat, found the car and boarded the train. Pushing his way through people as politely as possible, Tarin finally found his seat and stopped dead. If Tarin hadn't been at her funeral twenty-two years ago, and he hadn't known that spirits didn't look a thing like that, he would have _sworn_ his grandmother was in the aisle seat that was next to his window seat. Heaving his backpack up into the overhead storage after pulling out is one luxury item, a thirty Gigabyte iPod, he looked apologetically at the old woman and said, "Excuse me ma'am….I think we're seat mates."

The old lady looked up and squinted, then gave Tarin a very thorough once over that made him blush before she got up to make room for him to get to his seat. Sliding into the window seat and squirming around to get comfortable as the lady sat down, Tarin smiled at her. The old lady smiled back and settled into her seat just as the train started to move. New York was quite a ways away and Tarin settled in for the long haul, stealing glances sideways at the old woman who seemed utterly intrigued by the amount of ink on his arms and legs. Tarin didn't mind, if he hadn't expected people to stare he'd have never had the work done in the first place. At least the lady hadn't decided he was a thug of some sort and hid her purse.

Scrolling through his iPod and fitting his buds into his ears, Tarin picked some good sleeping music and settled back into his seat. The night had been exhausting. Glancing out the window as the train picked up speed, he thought about the events of the night and sighed, his shop still lay in shambles, and there were at least four more people who knew what he could do. New York was as big as cities came, and Tarin hoped that there he would be able to find some kind of anonymity. The lyrics to the song blasting in his ears caught Tarin's attention.

We could sail away  
Or catch a freight train  
Or a rocketship into outer space  
Nothin' left to do  
Too many things were said  
To ever make it feel  
Like yesterday did

Seasons must change  
Separate paths, separate ways  
If we blame it on anything  
Let's blame it on the rain

He smiled and let his head fall back against the head rest. It was funny how the Crüe always seemed to be able to tap into his thoughts. Sleep came quickly and deeply, and Tarin's only worry for the moment was making sure he didn't impede his seat mate's space as he slept.


End file.
